


The Family Business

by grey2510



Series: Light's Grace!verse [19]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Minor Character Death, Developing Friendships, Episode: s02e17 Heart, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, F/M, Fallen Angel Castiel, Family, Friendship, Gen, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Minor Character Death (referenced), POV Alternating, POV Castiel, POV Claire Novak, POV Dean Winchester, POV Krissy Chambers, POV Sam Winchester, Revenge, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-20
Updated: 2015-06-24
Packaged: 2018-04-05 07:03:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4170522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grey2510/pseuds/grey2510
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Krissy Chambers arrives unexpectedly at the bunker, injured from a case. Team Free Will assembles to help her with the hunt and the aftermath...even if Krissy doesn't want their help.</p><p>Canon-divergent after 10x14 and follows the events of the previous parts of the Light's Grace!verse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Knock Knock

**Author's Note:**

> **LG!V TIMELINE: February 2016**   
> 

Sometimes living in a super-secret supernatural underground bunker kinda sucks, as far as Claire’s concerned. Like how there’s no such thing as just cracking a window and enjoying the fresh air as she reads or watches TV or sneaks a beer when Dean and Cas aren’t looking. Or like how there’s always the very real possibility of getting locked into a room with all sorts of nasty cursed crap. Or how there’s no such thing as telling friends “oh yeah come pick me up at my place” or “why don’t you just come over and we’ll hang out” and then those friends start to think she’s weird for never mentioning where it is exactly that she lives. (Then again, after the failed date with Liam, Claire’s glad she doesn’t have to watch as Dean and Cas threaten any poor guy that comes to pick her up. She’s pretty sure that Dean wouldn’t hesitate to show off his very extensive collection of weaponry and Cas would dredge up his still scary as all get-out Holy Vengeance Glare as they “politely informed” the guy that curfew is at 12, even though she’s eighteen and in college and doesn’t need a freaking curfew, thank you very much—not that she really plans on arguing that point with them because, quite honestly, she values her life. Anyway, better that she just meets her dates elsewhere.)

Even after her high school friends had been kidnapped or possessed by Rowena and her demon crew and found out the big secret of Claire’s life, Dean and Cas hadn’t lifted the “no civilians” rule on the bunker. Hell, only a few in the hunting community know where to find them. And by few, she means Charlie, and probably Jody, and maybe that Garth guy they’ve mentioned a few times, although Dean and Sam always look uncomfortable whenever Garth comes up in conversation. She wonders what that’s all about. Claire’s not even sure if Ben knows where to find Dean; Ben had made it pretty clear that he didn’t want to be a hunter and Dean was just as happy to abide by that.

So, when Claire is just pulling a steaming bowl of leftover chili from the microwave and hears what can only be the magically enhanced _BOOMS_ of someone knocking on the bunker door, she doesn’t hesitate to grab a knife from the block on the counter as she heads to the front of the bunker, stopping in her room only to grab the gun Dean had given her on the sly on her eighteenth birthday, claiming Cas would be pissed if he knew. He hadn’t looked happy about the gift, but Claire suspects that Dean’s protective and practical streaks had beaten out his wish to keep Claire away from the hunting life (again, see “living in a super-secret supernatural bunker” for reasons why Claire’s life is far from normal anyway).

The _BOOMS_ continue to deafen Claire as she approaches the library. She checks her phone. No messages from Dean, Cas, Sam, or Charlie. Silently, she curses convincing Dean and Cas to take a night off and go do something _fun._ (Cas had wanted to see some documentary showing at the local cinema; Dean had protested, saying Cas and Sam should go nerd out, but then Cas had given Dean his _Don’t fuck with me, Dean Winchester. I’m not an angel anymore but I’ll still kick your ass_ look and Dean had quickly relented with a sheepish grin. _Dorks._ ) Quickly, she sends a mass text to Dean, Cas, and Sam; hopefully one of them will get back to her and shed some light on what’s going on.

The knocking gets more and more frantic, and now that Claire is in the library, she can hear a voice on the other side. It sounds young and female, but it’s angry and tinged with a side of ill-masked desperation.

“Dean! Sam! If you’re in there, open the goddamn door! Dean! It’s me—Krissy!”

Krissy. Claire’s heard the name before: every couple months, Dean calls to check in on her and her crew, and once he hightailed it out of the bunker pretty quick to help her with a rugaru case. She doesn’t know much about Krissy, just that she’s a hunter’s kid who ended up a hunter herself. Before heading up the steps to the door, Claire exchanges the knife in her hand for the silver one next to a flask of holy water on a small table, set there for just this purpose. She tucks the gun in the back of her jeans so she can hold the knife and flask at the ready.

Claire opens the door and almost gets hit in the face as Krissy’s fist comes down for another knock. The other girl is bleeding from a gash across her stomach, which she’s staunched with the remnants of a flannel shirt. The cold February air bites through the exposed skin of Claire’s face and she can’t tell if Krissy is shivering in her tattered coat from the weather or the injury; it’s probably both. Despite the obvious pain, Krissy immediately goes into attack mode.

“Who the hell are you?” Krissy spits sardonically as she looks Claire over.

“The one who’s going to save your ass, _Krissy_ ,” Claire replies, grabbing the girl by the upper arm and dragging her into the bunker. As she does so, she quickly nicks Krissy’s arm with the knife and then splashes the holy water on her. Krissy knocks Claire back a step, and Claire’s pretty sure that if the girl wasn’t injured, she’d probably have prevented Claire’s anti-demon/creature tests quite easily. Claire can hold her own in a fight—a few years as a runaway and about a year living with the Winchesters will do that to you—but Krissy is clearly a hunter, through and through.

“What the hell,” Krissy growls, but she relents a bit when Claire performs the tests on herself to placate the young hunter. “Where’s Dean?”

“Out. He’ll be back soon,” Claire answers, then catches Krissy as she starts to sway on her feet. “C’mon, let’s get you bandaged up.”

After getting Krissy settled in one of the chairs in the library, Claire dashes off to get one of the many first aid kits stashed around the bunker.

“Shirt off,” Claire instructs, and Krissy grimaces but allows Claire to help remove the bloody and shredded garment. Several scratches trace across her chest and abdomen, but only one seems to be serious.

“Usually I ask for dinner or at least a name before this,” Krissy quips, then winces as Claire gingerly wipes the wounds with antiseptic.

“It’s Claire,” she replies, wholly focused on her task. Field-dressing wounds: just another bunker life skill. Luckily, once the clotting blood is cleared away, Krissy’s gash doesn’t look as deep or long as Claire had feared, and she thinks the girl might be able to get away with only a few stitches. Claire digs out needle and dental floss from the kit as well as some gauze and medical tape. “What did this?”

Krissy looks reluctant to answer but then clearly decides she doesn’t have anything to lose.

“Werewolf.”

She says the word like a challenge, but Claire just nods. With steady hands, she works quickly over the wound, stitching it up and wrapping it in gauze. Krissy manages to keep the wincing to a minimum, which helps Claire keep her stitches even, and the dark haired girl nods approvingly and gratefully at the finished work.

“So I got your name, Claire, but you didn’t tell me what you’re doing here. You hunt with the Winchesters?”

“Um, not exactly,” Claire starts to reply when they hear a door slam from the direction of the garage.

“Claire!” she hears Cas call and the sounds of two sets of heavy boots reverberate down the concrete and tile hallways to where the two girls sit.

“In the library! It’s ok!” she replies, but Dean and Cas are already bursting through the door with guns raised. Cas immediately and clinically appraises the situation, then lowers his gun when he sees Claire is safe. Dean also lowers his gun, but his expression goes from concern to surprise to discomfort.

“Krissy?” he sputters, then quickly averts his eyes. Claire realizes belatedly that Krissy is sitting there in just a bra, and the girl looks just as uncomfortable as Dean. Cas, of course, looks far less concerned with potential human nudity than with the medical crisis on hand, but when he catches Dean’s expression, he, too, looks away. Claire unzips her hoodie and hands it to Krissy who eases into it as quickly as she can with the injury.

“Hey, Dean,” Krissy greets the hunter. “Nice place you got here. Thought it could use a little more red in the décor, though,” she jokes with a slight wince at the effort. The corner of Claire’s mouth twitches up.

“What the hell happened? Are you all right?”

“Werewolf. I’m fine. Your girl Friday stitched me up.”

“Krissy, what the hell were you doing taking on a werewolf on your own? Especially if it was around here? You should have just called,” Dean scolds and Claire knows if Sam were here they’d both be shooting each other looks about Dean’s overprotectiveness. Apparently, Krissy is of the same mindset.

“I could handle it, Dean! I’m not a kid anymore.”

“Obviously you couldn’t if—” Dean breaks off as Cas puts a hand briefly on his shoulder. “ _What_ , Cas?”

“Perhaps we should ensure she is ok physically before we question her hunting tactics,” Cas suggests calmly with one of his pointed stares at the hunter. Dean hrmphs, but relents. Cas approaches Krissy and Claire. “Claire's very good with treating wounds, but would you mind if I inspect it? Just to be sure you're all right?”

“It’s fine, Cas. I did it just like you guys taught me,” Claire protests half-heartedly.

Krissy, however, gives Cas a hard look and her chair skids loudly across the floor as she bolts up. The movement is clearly painful and she holds her stomach, but she still takes a step back. “No. I don’t know what you are, but you’re not human. You’re not touching me,” she warns. Her dark eyes dart to Dean looking for support and explanation. Cas freezes half-way across the room, hurt evident on his face. Claire can feel heat and anger rise up her neck.

“Krissy, it’s ok,” Dean tries to explain but Krissy cuts him off.

“What the hell, Dean! What’s going on? I dunno if you’re getting soft or whatever, but _what_ is that?”

“Cas isn’t a ‘what’—” Claire snarls.

“ _Claire._ ” The word is enough to drop the room into a deadly silence. Even Dean looks cowed. Cas’ shoulders drop when he realizes the effect he’s had on them. “I understand Krissy’s concerns. Dean, if you need me, I’ll be in the kitchen. I think coffee might be necessary.”

Without another word, Cas turns and leaves. Krissy follows his progress with the wary look of a hunter, then focuses her stare on Dean, who returns it steadily.

“Look, I’m only going to explain this once,” Dean says evenly. “You’re right, Cas isn’t exactly human. Well, he is now, but he’s a fallen angel. And he’s one of the good guys.”

“Dean, you’re a hunter. He’s supernatural. Since when do you—” Krissy protests. Dean snorts.

“Really? We’re having this conversation again? Remember that vampire we turned back? She was innocent and we saved her.” Dean’s stare never wavers, but Krissy’s gaze flicks to the floor. “And besides, you don’t get to play the ‘since when’ card with me. I’ve been around this block far more times than you, and I met Cas long before the vetala swiped your dad and you called us. Cas ‘n I’ve been to Hell and back, and that’s no figure of speech. So yeah, I’m saying he’s one of the good guys.”

Krissy juts out her chin, and Claire is about to chime in when Dean cocks a warning eyebrow at her, so she settles for grumbling under her breath.

“We good, Krissy?” Dean’s tone leaves no room for debate. Krissy nods, and Dean’s expression warms considerably. “Fine, then. Claire, nice work as the medic. I’m gonna go scrounge up some grub and make sure Cas brews a decent pot of coffee. You two hungry?”

Claire remembers the bowl of chili she left on the counter and her stomach rumbles. Krissy gives her a look and a hesitant smile. Claire turns back to Dean, “Yeah, I’m starving. And Cas better not have thrown out the chili I left.”

“Well, if he did, I’ll just have to make more. Why don’t you go get Krissy some clean clothes and we’ll meet you in the kitchen,” Dean says, with a light pat on Claire’s shoulder and a warm grin. Krissy just watches the exchange silently, her expression inscrutable.

“C’mon. My room’s this way.” Claire jerks her head in the direction of the bedrooms. She turns on her heel away from the other girl, still not sure she likes this Krissy character, especially not after how she’d treated Cas. _Says the girl who stole Cas’ wallet and once tried to have Dean killed…_ She pushes that train of thought away as she marches down the hall, Krissy following close.

“What _is_ this place?”

“You’ve never been to the bunker?” Claire turns to the other girl. Krissy shakes her head. “Then how’d you know to come here?”

“Dean and Sam gave me the coordinates and directions. Told me to memorize them and to come here if I ever needed anything. My phone broke fighting the werewolf, so I just came here instead of calling.”

“Oh,” Claire says before deciding to answer Krissy’s question, giving her the basic overview of the Men of Letters, the bunker, and how Sam and Dean came to own the place.

“Where is Sam, anyway?” Krissy asks when Claire finishes her explanation.

“He moved out. Has an apartment in town, but still comes here pretty much every day for research and to run the hunter phone lines.”

“Yeah, he’s really good at that,” Krissy nods as they enter Claire’s room.

“So...how’d you know about Cas?” Claire finally asks after a beat.

“I dunno. Hunter’s instinct. Something in his eyes and posture, I guess.”

Claire nods in understanding as she crosses the room; Cas might be human in the technical sense, but he would always be a former angel and there are some things that are impossible to change. In her dresser, Claire unearths a pair of jeans that she wouldn’t miss terribly if she never got back. She guesses she and Krissy are about the same height, but Krissy is probably a size smaller, though her body is muscled and toned from hunting. Krissy, whose bootleg jeans are rough and functional, scoffs at the skinny jeans in her hand.

“Really?”

“Fine, go naked or wear those nasty blood-crusted things you got on. No skin off my nose.” She reaches into her closet and pulls out a plaid button up, tossing it to the other girl. “Here, you can wear this if you still want to look like a mini-Dean.”

Krissy’s face colors and clouds over. “Whatever.”

Claire heads into the hallway to let the girl change, leaning against the cool concrete, annoyed that she somehow got stuck on Krissy duty. Finally, Krissy comes out of the room, plucking uncomfortably at the close denim around her legs. Claire just rolls her eyes and leads the way to the kitchen.

“So this Cas or whatever is a fallen angel that Dean says is a good guy,” Krissy begins. “And you said you’re not exactly a hunter, but you live here, you knew to check me for possession, and you know how to stitch up wounds. What’s your deal? Are you, uh…with Dean?”

Claire stops, her eyes bugging out of her head. “ _What?_ Ugh, no. What the hell made you think that?”

“I dunno. You seemed friendly and then he gave you that pat on the shoulder…” Krissy takes a step back from Claire, her hands palms-up in surrender.

“Missing a key word: friendly! Friendly pat on the shoulder! That’s it!” Claire shudders. “Ok, if you want to know why I’m here, it’s because Cas used my dad as a vessel, so when things got really shitty about a year ago, Cas was all I had left.”

“Cas is possessing your dad? And you’re just ok with that?!”

“No!” Claire’s hands ball up into fists and she can feel the nails digging into her palms. It doesn’t matter that she loves Cas as a separate person from her father now; the memory of her dad still hurts. “Cas and my dad got killed by an archangel, so my dad’s soul is in Heaven. God—we think—brought Cas back in my dad’s body. But the body’s just his now, not my dad’s.”

“Oh,” Krissy mumbles. “I’m sorry. I, uh, I lost my dad, too, a few years ago. I can’t imagine if…”

“…if you had to see someone walk around looking like your dad knowing that he’s not in there anymore?”

“Yeah. How…how do you do it?”

Claire breathes out heavily. “It took a lot of time. And anger. And more supernatural crap than I want to explain. But mostly, the first one: time. And Cas is so different from my dad, which makes it easier to separate them in my mind; it’s like if my dad had a socially awkward twin, I guess. And despite all the messed up crap he’s done, he’s done a lot of good.”

“Well,” Krissy offers, abashed, “if you can deal with Cas, then I guess I can, too.”

Claire gives a wan smile and heads off towards the kitchen again. “Good. Because the last thing you want to do with Dean is piss him off about Cas.”

When she walks into the kitchen, Claire’s surprised to see Sam sitting there as well before she remembers she had included him in her SOS message. He and Cas are engrossed in a conversation about something lore-related—Claire hears the word “Sumerian” and tunes out—while Dean is cooking up eggs and bacon.

“Breakfast for dinner,” the hunter says apologetically, sliding a large bowl of scrambled eggs on the table with a serving spoon. “Wasn’t planning on cooking tonight and everything else is still in the freezer.”

“You’ve gone soft, Dean. You’re all domestic,” Krissy smirks, but Claire notices that the other girl is the first to take a large helping of eggs, and when Dean sits down with the plate of bacon, she eagerly grabs for it.

“Yeah, well, if this is too _domestic_ for you…” Dean taunts, holding the plate of bacon just out of reach.

“Fine,” Krissy rolls her eyes. “What a kick-ass hunter you are. I’m in awe of your badassery. Now gimme the bacon.” Dean grins and hands the plate over.

“Hey, sorry I called you over for nothing,” Claire apologizes to Sam as she takes a seat at the table with her own mug of coffee.

“Not a problem,” he brushes it off and takes a sip of coffee. “Better that you did, just in case.”

Dinner passes in relative normalcy, although Claire feels oddly out of place watching Krissy banter with Dean and discuss hunting with both brothers. She hates to admit it, but she’s a bit peevishly happy to hear Sam echo Dean’s chastisement that Krissy should have called them for backup on the werewolf case. Cas stays quieter than usual, obviously still unsure of his standing with Krissy, and Claire catches his eye and gives him an sympathetic look. He returns it with an answering half-smile.

Sam finishes his meal, and after clearing his place, says he’s going to head back to his apartment, claiming the need to take care of the dog and call Olivia before turning in.

“I’m still not convinced this Olivia even exists,” Claire teases. “I haven’t met her.”

Sam rolls his eyes while his older brother just smiles with glee.

“Oh, don’t worry, Claire. She exists. He’s just been too busy on ‘research trips’ out her way to bring her back here.” Dean waggles his eyebrows. The younger Winchester makes no response to that except to flip off his brother as he leaves.

Claire and Cas go about cleaning up the kitchen, falling into a familiar rhythm, while Dean takes the opportunity to get more out of Krissy about what happened with the werewolf.

“I told you, I tracked him here from Colorado,” Krissy scowls. “I cornered him, but a loose floorboard gave out when I stepped on it, so he got the drop on me before I could get back up. I’m pretty sure I hurt him—there was blood on the ground—but he got away.”

“I still don’t get why you went after this thing on your own,” Dean grumbles, obviously not getting much further with Krissy in his line of inquiry. Krissy crosses her arms and glares at the older hunter. “Whatever. We’re all tired and you need to heal up. And I’m betting the werewolf’s in the same boat if he was losing as much blood as you say, so he’s probably not on the hunt. But tomorrow you better tell me what the hell is going on if you expect us to hunt this thing down and gank this thing.” Krissy frowns. “Don’t even argue—you’re hurt and you showed up here. We’re taking over, whether you like it or not.”

“Fine,” Krissy mutters. Dean gets up from the table, stopping at the sink to put his mug in.

“I’ll go make sure that the spare bedroom is made up,” Cas offers, quickly washing Dean’s mug and handing it to Claire to dry.

“Thanks, Cas. I gotta go check the wards with everyone traipsing in and out tonight,” Dean considers. “Claire, do you mind—”

“Yeah, I’ll show her where everything is,” Claire answers before he can finish, trying not to let the resentment of getting hosting duties foisted on her again creep into her voice. She must have not have been all that successful because Dean gives her a pointed look, which Cas interrupts as he passes by the hunter, running his hand lightly down Dean’s arm to his hand. Dean’s eyes light up and his fingers almost imperceptibly squeeze Cas’ before letting the ex-angel walk by. Dean runs a hand through his hair, thanks Claire, and wishes them both goodnight before leaving as well.

Claire puts away the mug, hangs up the towel, then nods over to the other girl. “Coffee’s all gone, but do you want anything else?”

“Huh?” Krissy jerks her head, startled, and her cheeks are tinged pink. “Uh, no, I’m good.”

“You ok? Do you need me to check your bandage?” Krissy shakes her head and Claire studies the girl across the table. She knows that expression… _Oh._ “You just figured out about Cas and Dean, didn’t you?” she asks with a knowing grin.

“What, no,” Krissy stammers.

“Hey, if you’ve got a problem with it—”

“No! It’s not like that!” The color in Krissy’s cheeks deepens. Suddenly Claire’s earlier conversation with Krissy resurfaces in her brain and clicks into place.

“Oh my God! You totally have a crush on Dean!” she blurts, horrified.

“Not anymore!” Krissy protests in mortification. “C’mon, you gotta admit he’s pretty hot for an older guy, and then he comes in and helps me save my dad when I’m only fourteen…of _course_ I kinda liked him back then! It was just a stupid schoolgirl crush.”

“Sorry, can you not use the word ‘hot’ in any relation to Dean? Guy’s pretty much my dad…and he’s with the guy who looks just like my dad and now is my other dad. And he’s like twice our age.” Claire can’t decide if she wants to hurl or laugh. “Besides, no one—girl, guy, whatever—is getting in between him and Cas. Like they’ve got this whole profound-bond-we’ve-saved-each-other’s-asses-too-many-times and weird Grace-soul mix thing going on.”

“Wow,” Krissy’s eyes aren’t quite at cartoon-levels, but they’re damn close. “He, uh, never mentioned any of that. It’s always just ‘what’re we hunting?’, ‘don’t get yourself killed,’ and then the obligatory ‘you should get out of this life and be normal, but call us if you need anything.’”

“Sounds like Dean. Welcome to the Winchester World of Weird,” Claire smirks, standing up from leaning against the counter. “C’mon.”

Krissy gets up more gingerly, favoring her injured side, and follows her from the kitchen. Claire shows her the spare room and the way to the bathroom, then heads off to her own room, dropping off to sleep fairly quickly.

 

 

 _Creak._ Claire’s eyes flash open at the sound of a door and she fumbles for the light.

“What the hell, Krissy?” she hisses blearily when she sees the girl by her closet, grabbing a coat. She expects Krissy to freeze at being caught, but instead, she just straightens up and gives Claire a defiant look that Claire is in no mood to deal with. “Christ, you’re not going after that werewolf again, are you?”

“He’s out there, and it’s the full moon. I’m not going to just sit here and let him…Not when…” she trails off, then squares her shoulders and makes for the door, Claire’s coat in hand.

Claire throws off the covers and just barely makes it over to the door, holding it firmly closed. Krissy meets her eyes, warning her to let her past. Claire doesn’t budge. “Why are you so obsessed with hunting this thing alone? And don’t give me some crap line about wanting to save people or the greater good or whatever. I’ve heard them all, and I’ve heard it from people when they mean it and when they don’t.”

Krissy breaks the stare, her eyes finally settling on a spot on the wall above Claire’s head. “Aidan,” she says in an almost-whisper.

“Werewolf kill him?” Claire doesn’t know who Aidan is, but doesn’t need to: she understands what Krissy means by the one word.

The other girl stares without responding, but like a broken dam, the words suddenly come out in a flood. “After our friend Josephine went back to live with her cousins or whatever out in Oregon, it was just me and him. We dated for a while but it just didn’t work, you know? But we were still hunting together. He was like the only family I had. And a month ago…” Krissy clenches her jaw, then gives Claire a challenging gaze. “So, I’m going after the sonofabitch. And I don’t want help. I don’t want someone else to take him down.”

“You need to do it,” Claire nods in understanding. “Fine. But you’re not going alone. You’re hurt and more likely to just get yourself killed without someone watching your back.”

Krissy huffs out a bitter laugh. “You sound like Dean.”

“Good,” she snorts in reply. “Now give me back my coat. You can wear my old one.”


	2. Interruptions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter makes a lot more sense if you've read the previous two parts of the series, "Bonding" and "The One Where Sam Gets a Puppy."

_Scritch scritch scritch scritch._ Sam can hear the dog’s nails on the hardwood floors inside his apartment before he even reaches the door. As soon as he opens it, Jared (and even Sam can’t believe he somehow ended up with a dog with his bizarro world counterpart’s name) bounds over, tongue and tail wagging. Sam spends a few minutes with the puppy, who possibly loves belly scratches more than that weird dog Dean had to interview once for a case. Sam gives a wry smile at the memory and the fact that he is no longer fazed that basically getting pimped out as dog scratcher so his brother could get information out of said dog is hardly the strangest thing that’s ever happened to either of them.

Eventually, Sam and Jared make their way to the small living room, both of them fwumping down on the appropriate furniture—Sam on the couch, Jared on the oversized dog bed in the corner. The apartment is really the second floor of an old Victorian house, converted into a separate living space perhaps fifty years ago and last updated, well, never—until Sam moved in a few months ago. It’s nothing to boast about, but with a little plaster, a few coats of paint (and plenty of discreetly painted wards and sigils), some appliance tinkering here and there, and a half-way decent set of second-hand furniture (from the bunker and various yard sales), Sam has made the one-bedroom place with its odd nooks and crannies and creaky hardwood floors his own. Even Dean, who had certainly been the least enthusiastic about Sam moving out of the bunker, had given the apartment an approving nod as he surveyed the maintenance work they’d all collectively put into the place. Sam figures that from Dean, that’s pretty much as good of a housewarming gift he’s ever going to get, and he’s sure as shit not complaining.  

Sam digs out his phone and thumbs through the contacts. “Hey Liv,” he says into the phone as he kicks his boots off and props his feet up on the coffee table.

“Hey, Sam. Everything end up ok?” Even though he can’t see her, Sam knows Olivia is wearing that little half-smile that barely masks the concern she feels. Even though Olivia knows about what he does and had been remarkably cool with it, she admitted once that it still scared the crap out of her—not just about what was out there in the dark, but how dangerous it is for Sam.

“Yeah, just another hunter showed up unexpected. Scared my…” Sam pauses. He’s never been sure how to refer to Claire: friend? ( _more than that—she’s family_ ) little sister? ( _kinda but not really_ ) niece? ( _weird_ ) my brother’s partner’s/my best friend’s former angelic vessel’s daughter? ( _accurate but holy shit does that make for one fucked up family tree_ ). He backtracks and settles for just a name; luckily Olivia’s heard it before and has a general idea of who Claire is. “It scared Claire because we weren’t expecting anyone to show up. And _no one_ just shows up to the bunker unannounced.”

Olivia huffs out a sigh. “What _is_ this bunker anyway? You make it sound like the friggin’ Batcave.”

“That’s not a bad description for it, though with more books and magical stuff than high-tech gadgets. And we don’t go fight evil in black bat armor and capes. Cas had a trenchcoat, but that’s about as far down that path as we go.”

“Hmm. No bat armor, huh? That might be a deal breaker. Jeans and flannel don’t exactly say badass crime-fighter to me. Would never work on film.”

Sam laughs. “Hey, play nice. Jeans and flannel stopped the Apocalypse.”

Pause. _Crap._ Sometimes he forgets how new Liv is to all of this.

“…I’d love to think that you’re kidding, but I have a feeling you’re not.”

Sam pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m not. Long story and I promise I’ll tell you some day, if you really want to know. At which point you might decide to cut and run, and I wouldn’t blame you in the slightest.”

“I doubt that, Sam,” Olivia says in earnest. “Look, I know I’m still getting used to all of this supernatural stuff, and it scares the hell out of me to think of what you’ve been through and what might happen to you, but…I get it, and this isn’t _all_ new to me.”

“Whaddya mean?”

“Know how I totally called you guys out as not Feds when we first met because of my uncle?”

“Yeah,” Sam chuckles, thinking back fondly at how she had just plunked herself down at his table in the café and started right off with ‘I know you’re not Feds and I want to know why the hell you were talking about witches outside my apartment and are reading dusty old Latin books with a latte.’ He’d been so surprised that he’s pretty sure his jaw had been dangerously close to hitting the table. Smooth, as always.

“Well, when Uncle Naveen was out on particularly dangerous cases, there were a few times my Uncle Paul would come stay with me and my parents. You know, just in case—he didn’t want to be alone. And when Uncle Naveen got shot in the leg two years ago—that’s why he’s on desk duty until he retires now—I was there when Uncle Paul got that phone call.”

“Shit, I’m sorry, Liv,” Sam offers in condolence and sympathy. “I didn’t know.”

“I know. I’m just saying, I know Uncle Naveen didn’t always want to talk about the things he’d seen or done, and while I’m not saying I love being cast in the role of Uncle Paul, I get what it’s like to have someone you…care about…out there saving the world. If he could handle it, I think I can, too.”   

“Have I told you you’re pretty awesome?” Sam smiles, then tries to lighten the mood. “I guess it’s only fair: I worry about you going into a second grade classroom every day. You’re braver than I am.”

“You have your monsters, I have mine,” Olivia jokes, and Sam is relieved to hear it. “So does this hunter showing up mean you’re not going to make it out this way this weekend?”

“Probably,” Sam sighs. “Krissy—the hunter—was reluctant on the details, but she got banged up pretty bad. I have a feeling Dean, Cas, and I are going to be stepping in on this one.”

“Ok,” Olivia says with resolve. “Just, uh, be safe, ok? And…” Sam can hear the forced calm and smile through the receiver. “…this means you owe me one, you hear me, bucko? You better be here next weekend. And bring Jared. I miss that boy. And you, too, I guess.”

“Aww, thanks. I see how it is: only talking to me for the dog.”

“Can you blame me?”

“Not really,” Sam laughs, reaching forward to scratch the dozing puppy, who cracks a grateful eye but stays on his pillow.

The conversation eventually peters off as Liv tries to stifle a few yawns, having had an early morning for work, and Sam encourages her to go to bed. He flicks on the TV for an hour or so after hanging up, settling on some mindless cop show rerun—if only their cases were this easy and wrapped up in an hour—before heading into the bedroom, Jared following close behind. The room might not be very big, but he’d managed to get a king sized bed in, a welcome respite from the too-short beds he’s endured over the years. For once, he even manages to drift off to sleep fairly easily, relatively nightmare free.

 

_Buzz. Buzz. Buzz._

“Oh fucking hell,” he mutters into his pillow as he cracks an eye open and throws an arm over to the nightstand to his phone. The red digits on the clock by the lamp say 2:37 AM, which does little to improve his mood, especially when he knows there’s probably only one reason someone would be calling at this hour. His brother’s name and number on the call screen of his phone confirm his fears.

As he answers, he’s already sitting up, reaching for the jeans tossed on the floor a few feet away.

“Dean?”

“Sam, we gotta go. Krissy and Claire took off on the hunt.”


	3. The Pack

Claire and Krissy are huddled in the thick bushes and undergrowth of the woods surrounding the abandoned house where Krissy last confronted the werewolf. Without any other leads to go on, they’d started at the house and traced the blood trail, but eventually it just doubled back to the house anyway.

The tracking had been slow, due to Krissy’s limited mobility, and the cold is certainly not helping. As they make their way back to the yard, Claire can’t help but be simultaneously glad that she woke up and accompanied the girl and pissed off that she got dragged out here.

“Shit,” Krissy whispers, grabbing Claire’s arm just before she breaks the tree-line and enters the open yard. Claire stops immediately, raising the gun chock full of silver bullets they’d swiped before leaving the bunker. Two figures approach the house, feral and predatory, and in the silver light of the moon reflecting off of the snow, Claire can see dark patches down the front of their clothes. Blood.

“What, they hunt in packs now?” Claire breathes. “Goddammit, Krissy. I thought we were going after just one wounded werewolf.”

The whites of Krissy’s eyes practically glow in the dark. “I thought so, too! It was just the one last night…and before.”

“We’re not taking on three werewolves alone,” Claire hisses, pulling out her phone.

“What’re you doing?!” Krissy barks, almost breaking the whisper.

“Shut up. Dean, Cas, and Sam are on their way anyway.” Claire looks up from the text she’s composing to find Krissy glaring at her. “What? I’m not stupid. You’re wounded, I can hold my own, but I’m not a hunter, and I’ve been around the Winchesters long enough to realize bad shit happens when you try and pull this crap alone—even if they haven’t. I gave us a head start, but I texted Dean and Cas not long after we left.”

“I told you, I gotta do this,” Krissy argues, her voice cracking.

“It’s not worth dying over! We’re in over our heads. And I’m not really in the mood for cashing in my chips or howling at the moon for eternity, thank you very much,” she counters, and quickly finishes off her text updating the older hunters to the situation. “C’mon. Let’s go back to the car. No point freezing our asses off while we wait.” Her phone buzzes and she reads the message. “Cas says they’re ten minutes away.”

Claire grabs Krissy by the upper arm and starts to lead her away when they see two more werewolves approach the house and follow their brethren inside. Krissy tracks their progress, and clenches her jaw. “Fine,” the other girl grinds out.

Carefully and quietly, they make their way back to Krissy’s pick-up truck, Claire in the driver’s seat, having convinced Krissy that if she wanted to be in good enough shape to hunt, she should at least let Claire drive while she rests. Krissy hunkers down into the corner of the passenger seat and the door while Claire twists the drawstrings of her hood.

The lights of the Impala sear into Claire’s eyes and she blinks away. Dean—because who else would be driving?—kills the rumbling engine as soon as they pull up alongside the truck. The girls get out of the truck just as the men get out, Sam and Cas immediately going to the trunk for weapons. Dean stalks up to Krissy, concern and anger mixing on his face before getting suppressed with the hunter’s stoic mask.

“How many?” he asks both of them.

“At least five—mine and four others showed up,” Krissy answers.

“The other four were covered in blood. I think they just came back from hunting,” Claire offers. Dean nods at the information, then turns back to Krissy.

“Talk.”

Krissy bristles, defiant, but Claire cuts in before this turns into another pissing contest. “It killed Aidan. That’s why she wants to do it alone.”

Dean’s expression softens slightly. Krissy shoots Claire a look of betrayal before averting her eyes from Dean’s gaze. The older hunter scrubs a hand over his face. “All right, look. This is how it’s going to go: Sam, Cas, and I are taking lead. Claire and Krissy, you stay to the back. We take out the uninjured four, and we do our best to save yours for you. But I’m not making any promises and if it comes down to it, we take the bastard out, whether you get your shot at him or not.” Krissy opens her mouth, but Dean holds up a hand. “This isn’t up for debate. I get it, Krissy, I do, and I’m sorry about Aidan, but I’m not risking my life or anyone else’s over your vendetta. You can’t handle that, I’ll cuff you to the car like I did when you were fourteen and I’ll do a better job of it this time around, you hear me?”

“I’d still get out.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” Claire interjects, giving the other girl a pointed look. “I’d make sure of that.”

Dean looks between the two of them, then, meeting Claire’s eyes, gestures to the side with his head and walks that way. Claire follows until he stops a few paces away, just out of earshot of the others. “You know you don’t have to do this, right?” he says heavily.

“Yeah, trust me, I’m not signing up for a hunter career path. But I’m not going to just wait in the car while you guys are out there. I can take care of myself.”

“I know you can. Look, keep an eye on Krissy, ok? I don’t want her going off half-cocked and getting herself killed.”

“Yes, sir,” she gives a mock-salute and a bitter half-smile. She regrets the moniker and gesture instantly when she sees the brief flash of guilt and regret on Dean's face.

“I’m serious,” the hunter warns. 

“Me, too.”

“Ok. You guys armed? There’s extra in the Impala if you need anything,” Dean asks, jabbing a thumb towards the car. Claire untucks the gun from the back of her jeans and shows him the silver knife, earning a begrudging nod from the older hunter. “Good. All right,” he calls softly to the others, “we’re moving out.”


	4. Hunt

This is really not how he wanted to spend his Friday night—not that the hunting life really delineates between weekdays and weekends or is exactly a 9-5 gig (unless you’re going PM to AM)—but still, it’s the principle of the whole thing. All he’d wanted was a nice night out with Cas, even if it’s at some ridiculous documentary on environmental policy and marine life (ok, so the sharks had been cool, but still), maybe a few drinks after, then back to the bunker to give thanks to the soundproofing gods who designed the place (seriously, if those are real gods, Dean thinks he might just be a man of true faith after all)…but no. Of course his night turned into a wounded hunter and a werewolf hunt in the middle of a cold as fuck winter night.

Oh, and let’s not forget the part where said wounded hunter is really just a kid who he still hasn’t been able to convince to get out of the life, _and_ said wounded hunter has dragged _his_ …kid, who he _really_ doesn’t want to be a hunter, into this mess. 

And did he mentioned the part where it’s fucking freezing out here?

To his right is Sam, to his left is Cas, each armed and ready. They nod to each other, having worked together for so long that their roles are automatic and seamless. Cas turns to signal to Claire and Krissy; Dean turns to confirm they are ready—not because he doesn’t trust Cas, but to ease the clench in his gut at the thought of Krissy going into this fight injured (not that he could stop her) and Claire being ostensibly in charge of the other girl. Unfortunately, seeing the stony mask on each girl’s face does little to assuage his worry and guilt. Whether he likes it or not, the two girls are hunting. It doesn’t matter that at their age, he would have done the same thing; Dean hates the thought of turning into his father and starting the cycle all over. And yeah, he knows Claire hadn't been serious when she'd called him 'sir', but damn if that hadn't brought up unpleasant memories of his and Sam's own childhood—hell, even some of their adulthood. 

They move out towards the house: guns and blades at the ready, breath white, the three men fanning out slightly as they crunch through the frosty snow. Sam is the first to the house, and he circles to the side door. Cas looks to Dean before moving forward to the front door; his angel’s eyes are steely and resolved, but Dean catches and returns the miniscule uptick of the corner of his lips; everything that needs to be said communicated in that small moment. Cas peers through the window, then raises his blade. Dean adjusts his stance to cover Cas’ back, keeping an ear out for Sam’s movements.

Cas may be mortal now, but the speed and ferocity with which he moves must be some hold over from his angel state; either that or Jimmy was far more athletic and agile than anyone would have guessed for a salesman in a trenchcoat. Angels might use their Grace to assist their fighting, but they are still warriors and deadly in hand-to-hand combat—a fact that Dean was sorely reminded of when he took it upon himself to assess Cas’ skills as a human.

The former angel eases the door open and steps through; his knees are bent, his muscles taut and predatory. With a slash and thud, a werewolf hits the floor. From the side of the house, the hunter hears a crash and another body drop; Sam has made his move. With the crash, Dean knows that stealth is no longer an option, and he moves quickly into the room, the creak of boards behind him telling him that the girls have followed.

Cas has engaged another werewolf, his angel blade bloody and being held off by the much larger creature. The former man snarls, his eyes yellow, his claws digging into Cas’ wrists, his teeth baring down towards Cas’ jugular. Even though, rationally, Dean knows his partner can more than take care of himself, the sight of the monster coming that close to ripping apart Cas sends his heart into overdrive and turns his stomach into a lead weight. Quickly, Dean raises his gun like it's a natural extension of his body and fires twice; the werewolf jerks back at the impact of the silver bullets, and blood pools on the floor around its head. Three down…

He hears footsteps above him, but before he can say anything, he is thrown against the wall and his gun clatters just out of reach. His head hits with a sickening thunk, and his eyesight momentarily goes out of focus before snapping back to find another werewolf—a large female who couldn’t be more than in her mid-twenties, and who is deceptively swift for her size—moving towards him. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Krissy and Claire running to the stairs, probably in pursuit of the werewolves he’d heard upstairs. He gets quickly to his feet, just in time to get his knife up and slash at the werewolf. She recoils, favoring her arm where he caught her. Absently, he picks up the sounds of Sam fighting in the next room. Clearly there are more than the five werewolves Claire and Krissy had counted.

The werewolf snarls at him, and to the side he sees Cas kill another monster, the angel blade a blur of silver. Cas may be a deadly shot with a firearm, but he seems to favor the blade he has carried for millennia, and Dean has never seen any need to fix what ain’t broke. Cas whirls to face Dean, and starts to come his way as the hunter wrestles with his werewolf.

“Dean!”

“Go with Claire and Krissy!” Dean calls, slashing out and ducking quickly to retrieve his gun. Thankfully, Cas just nods without argument and heads for the stairs just as Dean straightens up and fires at the werewolf, hitting her in the heart. Her eyes widen in shock as she drops to the floor.

He steps over her and moves in the direction of where he last heard Sam. Dean finds his brother in the kitchen, two werewolves crumpled dead on the floor, one getting up from the broken remains of the kitchen table to rejoin the fray while Sam slashes at another’s gut. Before the male werewolf can untangle its long and muscular limbs from the splintered wood surrounding him—Sam must have slammed the wolf into the furniture, and even in the heat of the fight, the back of Dean’s mind appreciates having a Gigantor for a brother—Dean stops the creature with two bullets to the chest. Upstairs, he can hear shouts, crashes, and gunshots, and his heart stops for a moment as he hears Claire screech, “ _Krissy!_ ”

Sam pushes his current werewolf off him, and her yellow eyes and silver hair glow in the moonlight through the kitchen window. Simultaneously, the brothers fire at the werewolf, dropping her instantly.

The younger Winchester gives a wry grin as they jog to the stairs. “Still counting that as mine.”

“You wish,” Dean retorts, the familiar banter rolling automatically off his tongue despite the pounding and fear in his chest.


	5. Revenge

Fighting with the Winchesters is nothing like how fighting with Aidan was, or even like when Dean would assist on a case. The three men move in concert, and Krissy can’t help but be impressed by the deadly skill with which they dispatch the pack.

None of the werewolves in the first floor melee are hers—unless he is in the other room with Sam. Krissy surveys the room for the next threat as Cas and Dean fight their way through until Claire elbows her and nods her head up to the ceiling. As soon as there is an opening in the fight, the girls run to the stairs, taking them two at a time, even though Krissy can feel the stitches on her stomach pull. But the pain is dull and distant, like it’s not even really her pain. All she can think about is finding the sonofabitch that killed the Aidan she knew.

Because that’s the part she hadn’t—couldn't—tell any of them. The werewolf didn’t really kill Aidan. She did. Because the bastard had turned her friend and Aidan had attacked. And when she looked into Aidan’s eyes, it hadn’t been Aidan anymore. Just some fucking creature that had to be killed or else she would be next.

And then just as she had pulled the trigger, the werewolf’s eyes had widened in surprise and shock.

But it was too late.

Aidan is gone.

Aidan is dead.

And he had deserved more than she could give him, he had deserved someone who loved him back (and she had tried, she really had, but she just couldn’t, not like that), and he had certainly deserved more than being shot while looking into the eyes of the person he loved.

And she _had_ loved him in her way—as a friend, as a brother, as family.

And she had killed her family.

And now she would kill the one who destroyed the last of her family.

The upstairs of the house is quiet, save for some soft scuffling from behind the door at the end of the hall. Krissy stalks towards it, distantly aware that Claire has raised her gun and is guarding her back.

She kicks open the door to find her werewolf nursing his own wounds on a lumpy and stained mattress. His dark hair is matted and greasy, his skin has an unhealthy sheen and pallor, but his eyes are still a malignant yellow and his teeth are bared. She barely even notices the female—probably his mate, her hunter’s brain supplies—attack until she hears Claire call her name and discharge the gun. The female turns to face the new threat, and Krissy’s focus returns to the creature on the mattress.

The werewolf’s eyes narrow in recognition, and his mouth curls up in a predatory sneer. Krissy returns the stare, raising the gun. Without a word—because there are no words that will ever due this justice—she buries a bullet in the werewolf’s head.

Despite all of her hunter’s training, she lets the gun clatter to the floor and she drops to her knees. Instantly, the dull ache of her wound explodes into full Technicolor pain and her hands instinctively go to her abdomen. She pulls one away, swaying slightly at the blood from the ripped stitches.

Behind her, she hears another figure enter, and she turns in time to see Cas kill the female werewolf with a deft slash to the throat and Claire sitting up from where she had been knocked to the ground. Numbly, she feels strong hands grip her shoulders, and she leans gratefully into the former angel’s chest.


	6. Recovery

The library in the bunker is relatively quiet as they tend to their wounds, which are thankfully mild and mostly just scratches and bruises, except for Krissy’s previous injury reopening and the cut on the back of Dean’s head where he slammed into the wall.

Krissy’s dark eyes never leave him as he cleans the gash and fixes the stiches; Cas must admit that Claire did a very good job the first time around, although no sutures could hold up to the physical exertion Krissy put on them. He works quickly and methodically, not particularly perturbed by the girl’s stare, although he wonders what she must be thinking ever since he carried her out of the house.

“I never said thank you,” Krissy blurts out finally, almost in a challenge, as if daring Cas to demand gratitude.

“You’ve been through a lot,” Cas answers, keeping his voice as neutral as possible as he reaches for the gauze and medical tape.

“I shouldn’t have doubted you because you’re—were—an angel.”

Cas nods. “It’s understandable. You’re a hunter, and are naturally wary of the supernatural. I think, deep down, Dean would have been disappointed if you _hadn’t_ relied on your instincts and questioned me.” Gently, he presses the tape to her abdomen, and she sucks in slightly. “He will want to know why you went alone, though. And why you dragged Claire with you.”

“I didn’t drag her with me! She refused to let me go without her.”

“A moot point, in this case. Dean didn’t want _either_ of you to go, and I agree with him.” He looks up to the girl’s eyes, considering her steadily. “We understand this was personal, but that doesn’t excuse the risk you took.”

Krissy’s eyes narrow. “Who’re you to lecture me about risks?”

Cas shrugs. “No one. I have no say in your life, nor do I have any right to lecture, given my own past. I’m only explaining Dean’s perspective. Like it or not, he cares what happens to you—as do we all. And the same goes for our concern for Claire.”

Krissy pulls down her t-shirt as Cas finishes, and her chin tilts up. She winces as she stretches to grab the flannel shirt she borrowed from Claire, momentarily discarded on the table. Cas gets it for her, and the girl shrugs it on before slumping back into the chair. Cas regards her silently until the girl finally breaks and beings to speak.

“The werewolf turned my friend, Aidan. He was family,” she mutters. Cas studies her face and can read the untold story.

“I’m sorry. No one should ever have to kill family.”

Cas’ stomach churns unpleasantly as he thinks of all the times he and the Winchesters have been forced to confront each other, family, and friends—and how many of their family and friends they have lost, by their hands or at the hands of others. He looks around the room and catches Dean’s eye, where he sits with Sam cleaning their weapons. Dean gives a questioning raised eyebrow, and Cas shakes his head slightly.

“Would you prefer I speak to them first?” Cas asks, returning his focus to the young hunter before him.

Krissy freezes, but then she nods stiffly. Cas gets up, and without thinking, puts a comforting hand on her shoulder as he goes. He feels her tense for a fraction of a second before relaxing, and he remembers belatedly that this is not Claire and the trust with Krissy is new and fragile.

“Get anything out of her?” Dean asks, not unkindly, as Cas settles at the table.

Cas nods, then looks down at his hands. “I don’t believe the werewolf actually killed her friend, but did bite him. She didn’t explicitly say so, but I am sure after the boy was turned, Krissy had to kill him herself, mostly likely in self-defense.”

The brothers share a look, and Sam’s face pales. The younger Winchester puts down the knife he’d been cleaning, nearly dropping it on the table, and purses his lips.

“Do you want me to—” Dean begins to ask, his brow tight in concern.

“No, I’ll…I’ll talk to her.” Without another word, Sam unfolds his long frame from the chair and goes to Krissy.

Cas looks at Dean questioningly. The elder Winchester turns sad eyes to the former angel. “C’mon, let’s check on Claire,” Dean suggests, abruptly getting up from the table, but not before getting a reassuring nod from his brother. Puzzled, Cas follows his partner’s lead.

“What’s going on, Dean?” he asks, once they have reached the hallway.

Dean stops, and leans back against the wall. He rubs his jaw with a hand, and his eyes flick back in the direction of the library. “You, uh, know about Madison, right?”

Understanding hits Cas in a crushing blow. How could he have forgotten that story from the Winchester Gospels? He should have put the pieces together. Cas reaches out for one of Dean’s hands, and the hunter lets him take it. He rubs small circles into the back of the hand with his thumb, a gesture he learned from Dean when he first fell; in fact, it’s one of the first things he remembers upon regaining consciousness. 

“Fuck, man,” Dean shakes his head. “This is exactly why I don’t want Krissy hunting. And now Claire’s joining on hunts? They’re just kids, Cas. I know, they’re eighteen, but shit.”

Cas sighs, his shoulders falling. “I don’t think Krissy _can_ leave the life, nor do I think she would ever want to. And Claire? I don’t think she will ever escape it completely, but I believe it will only be a small facet of her life: she has many options for her future and she seems committed to taking them, especially considering the encouragement we—particularly you—give her in that regard.”

“Yeah, but…”

“Do you remember what I told you? After Purgatory?”

Dean’s face clouds in confusion. “Damn, Cas, there was a lot that was said after Purgatory. Gonna have to narrow it down for me.”

“I told you that you can’t save everyone, even though you try. And it’s ok, Dean. You just have to let it go.”

“Big talk there, Cas,” Dean says, but Cas can see a reluctant small smile on the hunter’s lips.

“I’m aware,” he admits. They fall silent, each studying their entwined hands.

“We’re just all huge, broken messes, huh?” Dean jokes sadly, and Cas raises his eyes to meet the hunter’s.

“Yes,” Cas agrees. “But, we understand each other’s messes.”

Dean raises an eyebrow playfully. “Is this the ‘you complete me’ speech?”

“I think I understand that reference…” Cas says, cocking his head.

“Good enough,” Dean chuckles, pushing himself off the wall and untwining his hand from Cas’ to envelope him in a hug. Cas breathes into Dean’s shoulder, not minding in the slightest the smell of sweat and well-worn flannel. “You know,” Dean murmurs and Cas can hear the grin in his voice, “you were pretty badass tonight.”

“You didn’t do too badly yourself,” Cas rejoins, and he pulls away to plant a swift kiss on Dean’s lips.

Dean smirks at the kiss. “That’s not nearly gonna cover it.” The hunter leans forward and presses his lips to Cas’, this kiss far less chaste than the first. Cas has no complaints on this front.

“We still need to check on Claire,” Cas breathes when they finally part.

Dean sobers up quickly, placing his hand on the small of Cas’ back as he starts towards the girl’s room. “Right.”  

The door is open maybe an inch, and Cas knocks softly.

“Yeah?” Claire answers, and Cas pushes open the door. Claire spins hurriedly as she slams the drawer on her nightstand closed, something heavy and silver disappearing into it.

Cas rolls his eyes. “I know you have your own gun, Claire.” The girl’s eyes widen and he can tell she is trying desperately not to look to the man behind him. He saves her the effort and does so himself. “And I know you gave it to her, Dean, for her birthday. Neither of you is as secretive as you think.”

Dean sighs. “Practicality. I didn’t _want_ to.”

“I know,” Cas nods. “I don’t relish the idea of you becoming a hunter, Claire, but I would rather you be safe above all else.”

“I _told_ you he’d find out,” Claire hisses at Dean, who just shrugs, and Cas sincerely hopes that this discovery does not undermine the reassurances he just made to the hunter’s self-worth as a parental figure. 

But, Dean’s mouth just twists in soft, crooked smile as he looks at his adopted daughter, and his eyes crinkle with concern. “How’re you holding up, kiddo? Cas told me how it went down up there.”

“Ok, I guess.” Claire settles on the bed and her fingers pick at the hem of her shirt sleeve. “I didn’t kill that werewolf, just grazed her. I don’t know…if I could,” Claire admits miserably, and Cas sees his own expression—one of relief and guilt and understanding—mirrored on Dean’s face. “I saw her eyes, at the last minute, and…I just couldn’t do it.”

“Hey, hey,” Dean cuts her off gently. “I got no problem with the notion of you not killing nobody, Claire,” Dean assures her in a drawl.

Claire’s breath hiccups in an almost-laugh. “Did you just go Malcolm Reynolds on me?”

“…no. Shut up.”

“Nerd.”

“You recognized it,” Dean counters smugly. Cas just looks between the two of them, resigned to letting them have their battle of…wits.

“Truly, though, Claire, are you all right?” Cas finally asks.

“Yeah, I think I am,” Claire nods. “How’s Krissy?”

“She’s gonna be ok,” Dean reassures her, then glances at Cas for confirmation.

“She pulled her stitches badly, but beyond that, she is physically well.”

Claire nods at the information, her shoulders relaxing at the news before squirming slightly as a new thought comes to her. “I know you’re pissed for us taking off like that. She tell you any more about what happened with Aidan?” Claire asks cautiously.

The two men look to each other, and Dean sighs heavily. “Kinda,” Dean admits. “Cas says the werewolf bit Aidan, and Krissy had to kill him when he turned.”

“Oh God.” Claire’s jaw drops in horror. “Where is she?”

“Sam’s with her,” Cas explains, and he exchanges a silent conversation with Dean. “I think it’s for the best, right now, that we let him talk to her.”

The teen’s eyes flick between the two men, trying to decipher their expressions. “Ok…” she says, but the worry remains etched on her brow.

Cas feels a pang of love for the girl, this girl who can put aside her own emotional trauma so easily to ask about the wellbeing of another. They really are all broken messes who understand each other. Claire gets up from the bed and looks steadily at them, crossing her arms.

“I’m gonna check on her soon,” Claire continues with just a hint of challenge that does little to mask the concern. “Plus,” she deflects, “she still has my clothes.”

Dean rolls his eyes, snorts, then leans forward to press a kiss to the top of her head before he leaves the room. Claire smiles begrudgingly, then uncrosses her arms and takes Cas’ arm in one hand. He returns the act, the contact gently reassuring for both, then he follows Dean from the room.


	7. Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep, totally stealing the title from 2x17.

Krissy narrows her eyes at Sam as he approaches the table where she rests stiffly, obviously uncomfortable in the hard chair but unwilling to move if at all possible. The younger Winchester reads the challenge and hurt in the other hunter’s expression, and he knows she doesn’t want to talk probably just as much as he doesn’t.

 _Christ. Madison._ He hasn’t thought of her in ages, except vaguely as part of the general reason why he fears and worries for Olivia or of any attempts he makes to establish a life for himself outside of hunting. Amelia’s the only one who escaped relatively unscathed (alive, at least, and isn't that low bar a fucking depressing commentary on his life), but he would hardly count that as a success story.

But Madison...

_“You tried. I know you tried,” she’d said, tears streaming down her cheeks, her voice breaking. “But this is all there is left. Help me, Sam. I want you to do it. I want it to be you.”_

_She was holding the gun to his chest, begging with her eyes for him to take it._

_“I can’t.”_

_“I don’t wanna die. I don’t. But I can’t live like this. This is the way you can save me. Please. I’m asking you to save me.”_

_Dean had taken the gun from her, but those dark eyes never left Sam’s face until the brothers left the room. Dean said he’d do it, that Sam shouldn’t have to. But he did. It was her last request._

_He’d taken the gun back, the tears blurring his vision as he returned to Madison, who sat with her hands clasped in her lap, waiting. Waiting for him, to end it all. His sleeve was salty and wet as he tried to clear his eyes._

_“I forgive you. Thank you,” she’d whispered so that only he could hear._

_It was the loudest gunshot he’d ever heard. It echoed in his brain, in his heart. Madison crumpled to the floor, and he had held her until Dean finally pulled him away._

Silently, he settles into a chair a few feet from Krissy and rests his elbows on his thighs. He doesn’t even know where to start with her.

“Come to tell me it’s not my fault? Or that I shouldn’t have run off alone and that I almost got myself and Claire killed?” Krissy scoffs.

“No,” Sam shakes his head, lifting his eyes to hers. “No, I’m not going to tell you that. You already know, and we all would’ve done that same in your shoes.”

“Then what? Dean pass the ‘get out of hunting’ torch to you?”

Sam chuckles bitterly. “Surprisingly, that’s not it either. Ten years ago, I was the one telling Dean I was gonna get out of this life, go back to school and all, and he was the one saying he didn’t want to do this alone. But now?” He looks around the bunker library with all of its books and artifacts and lore. “This _is_ my life, and no matter what I do, I know I’m never going to leave it, not entirely. I know you never met Bobby, but now that I’ve picked up where he left off, I feel like I have a real place in this life.” He looks to the girl. “I think you’ve decided that, too.”

“Yeah,” Krissy agrees, shifting slightly in her chair. “Except...what’s next, you know? I went after the thing that killed my dad, and tonight I killed the monster that turned Aidan... So now what?”

“Have you ever considered piracy?”

Krissy cocks an eyebrow in confusion.

“Never mind. _Princess Bride_ reference. Apparently I’m channeling Dean.” Sam looks down at his hands, calloused and worn from too many hunts and too much killing. “I’m sorry about Aidan,” he says finally. “Not just what happened to him, but what happened to you.”

“It’s fine. Killed the bastard tonight, didn’t I? It’s over.”

“That’s not what I meant,” he counters softly, ignoring the front the younger hunter is putting on. Between Dean, Krissy, and Claire, Sam could probably write a book on dealing with obvious deflection and projection; perhaps he should have studied psychology, not pre-law. He tries a different tack. “So, about eight years ago—I was only a few years older than you are now—there was this girl, Madison. She’d been attacked and mugged, and then people around her started dying. They were getting picked off one by one by a werewolf. So of course, Dean and I jumped on the case, Dean going out to hunt the werewolf, while I stayed and protected Madison. She, uh...she was...”

He can’t finish. He hadn’t known her long, but other than maybe Sarah, she was the first girl he’d really liked, could maybe have loved, since Jess. Krissy makes no comment, but just listens while picking at a tear in the knee of her jeans. Her eyes are hard and her jaw is set, but Sam takes a deep breath and continues anyway.

“But it turned out that the werewolf we killed wasn’t the only one in the area. Madison...Madison was one, too. She had no idea, and she was horrified when she found out. We thought we could cure her, thought we had. But we were wrong.”

 _“You tried. I know you tried.”_ The words echo on a loop in his head.

Krissy finally looks up, and her eyes are wet and glassy. “What, uh, what did you do?”

“She asked me to kill her.” Sam can feel his voice breaking.

_“This is the way you can save me. Please. I’m asking you to save me.”_

“Did you?”

“Yeah. And it was morning, so she wasn’t even…” he trails off.

_“I forgive you. Thank you.”_

The silence grows, each of them buried in memory and pain.

“He attacked me,” Krissy admits quietly. “Held me down, and I can still smell his breath on me. It smelled like blood. But it wasn’t just that. I could smell that stupid jock deodorant he liked, too, and I could see tan line from the silver pendant he used to wear… But those eyes weren’t his...not until I managed to get my gun up, and then it was like the fog cleared and…”

“But it was too late,” Sam finishes for her.

“Yeah.”

Sam sighs. “I can’t tell you it gets better, because it doesn’t. Easier, maybe, but not better.”

“How do you…?” Krissy purses her lips, still reluctant to expose a vulnerability. Sam leans back in his chair and cards his fingers through his hair.

“Honestly? You just do. I gotta believe that there’s a light at the end of the tunnel, that what we do is worth it, even if we lose a lot along the way.” He looks towards the hallway that leads to the bedrooms where Dean and Cas disappeared down not long ago. His mouth quirks in a crooked grin. “Hell, if my brother—the eternal pessimist—” and Sam knows that’s not really fair to Dean, but it gets the desired effect from Krissy: a conspiratorial grin, “can find some happiness in all this mess, there’s gotta be hope for the rest of us, right?”

Sam thinks of Olivia: her warm brown eyes, her relative acceptance about the dangers of the world, the matter-of-fact way she'd told him that red wine is not a beverage but a lifestyle, how she prefers to sing the harmony—not the main line—to songs on the radio in the car, the way she always asks the right questions without prying and reassures without coddling. Maybe there's hope indeed.

“Aidan and I weren’t together, you know,” Krissy clarifies after a moment's silence.

“I know. Doesn’t mean he wasn’t family and doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt like hell to lose him. And I know what it’s like to feel responsible for something like that. But you did what you had to. You can’t let yourself forget that.”

Krissy huffs dismissively. Sam doesn’t press the matter. No five minute talk is going to completely undo the psychological damage.

“These fucking stitches,” Krissy grumbles, signalling that share-and-care is over. “Not going to be able to hunt for weeks.”

“Do you need a place to stay? The bunker has plenty of rooms. No sense paying for a motel.”

Krissy considers, and Sam thinks she’s going to reject the offer on principle, but she nods eventually. “Yeah, sure.”

“Good. Can put you to work on research,” he smirks. Krissy scrunches up her face and groans. “Hey, gotta earn your room and keep somehow,” he teases, seeing as none of them pay rent or anything here.

“Fine,” she mutters. “But as soon as I’m cleared for duty, you’re finding me a damn case.”

“Deal.” Sam knows his brother probably won’t like the agreement, but both Winchesters know there’s no stopping Krissy, just like there would have been (and was) no stopping them in similar situations. The most he can hope for is that with Krissy around, they can make sure she heals up and doesn’t do something stupid, and then maybe they can find her a good case and some resources. Hunters aren’t always known for their willingness to team up, but Sam’s been working on networking the community in recent months; something’ll work out eventually.

He gets up from the table and goes to gather the weaponry they’d left out mid-clean; Krissy grabs his sleeve and stops him on the way by. He looks down at her and she just nods in thanks; he returns the gesture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise, I really do like Sam! If you need a Sammy pick-me up, [click here.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4105717)


	8. Next Steps

“Hey Krissy,” Dean calls as he comes into the TV room where Claire and Krissy are watching a cable channel marathon of _Twilight_...well, if turning off the sound and providing obnoxious melodramatic dialogue of their own counts as watching. “I’m doing some work on Cas’ car today; want me to give your truck a tune-up while I’m at it?”

Krissy looks like she’s going to turn down the offer out of hand, but Claire gives her a pointed side-eye and nudges her thigh with her toes, and so the other girl changes tacks. “Um, yeah, that’d be great. I think it needs an oil change. Thanks.”

Dean nods with a cautious half-smile. “No problem.”

“So the Pimpmobile is outta commission again?” Claire asks with a smirk, which is returned by the older hunter.

“Don’t even get me started on that piece of crap,” Dean shakes his head. “It’s a good thing it’s for Cas, because if it were anyone else…”

“Yeah yeah, we know, ya big sap,” Claire teases. “Now go putter around the garage.”

“I don’t _putter_. Jesus, you make it sound like I’m eighty.”

“No, he’s right, Claire. He’s pretty spry for an old guy,” Krissy chimes in.

“I’m really not that old,” Dean protests.

Claire snorts. “Too bad, seeing as Cas just celebrated his what, gagillionth birthday?”

“That’s just…” Dean starts.

“...true?” Claire finishes. Dean rolls his eyes and Claire decides to take pity on the guy. “Ok, I’m done if you’re done.”

“Yeah, I’m done,” Dean wags a finger between the two of them as he leaves the room. “I’m done with your whole generation.”

Krissy and Claire exchange devious grins as he exits, then turn back to the TV.

“Oh man, I think we missed the part where it’s raining and Expressionless White Chick and Shimmery Vampire Dude talk about how vapidly in love with each other they are,” Krissy snarks. “Oh wait...here we go...more rain…”

Claire laughs. “Sadly, the books are better, but that’s not exactly saying much.”

“You read the books?!” Krissy scoffs.

“Weren’t a whole lotta options in the group home,” Claire shrugs.

Krissy stretches out on the couch, careful not to twist and pull her stitches again. “Hope Dean doesn’t mess up my truck,” the hunter says after a few minutes of snarky audience-provided film dialogue.

Claire resists the urge to roll her eyes. “Do you always shut down everyone’s offers to help?”

The dark haired girl turns to her sharply and quirks an eyebrow. “Don’t you?” she retorts acidly.

Claire considers this, thinking back on the last year or so—the group home, reuniting with Cas, the first few months in the bunker. How she’d stolen Cas’ wallet, how she’d almost gotten Dean killed, how she’d bought a bus ticket to leave during her first week at the high school here...

“Not anymore,” Claire replies earnestly.

“Yeah well, I guess it’s easy when you’ve got...this…” Krissy waves a hand to encompass the room. “Can’t exactly rely on people when you’re a hunter. Can’t take care of yourself, you don’t make it too far.”

“Are you _jealous?_ ” Claire’s eyebrows rise up.

“Jealous?! No,” Krissy scorns, but Claire knows that tone too well.

“Uh huh,” she replies dismissively. Claire realizes she’s been picking at a loose thread in the pillow on her lap, and she tosses it to the floor. She studies the other girl for a moment. “You don’t plan on getting out of hunting ever, do you?”

Krissy raises a shoulder. “Probably not. My dad and I tried for a while. And then there was Victor…” she shakes her head at what is clearly an unpleasant memory. Claire doesn’t pry. “Never works out. Plus, I kinda like hunting, you know? Like I’m doing something good.”

“I get that,” Claire agrees. “I don’t want to hunt, but it’s like I can't really escape it all. And then listening to you talk about hunting with the guys—I don’t really fit into that life. And all I’m doing is going to college. You guys are saving people.”

“Now who’s jealous…” Krissy shifts on the cushions. “What’re you studying?”

“Just Gen Ed courses for now. Thinking about going into social work, you know...after being in the system and all.”

The hunter sits up a little and snorts. “Good luck. I couldn’t deal with people like that. Monsters are easy: kill ‘em and you’re done.”

Claire gives a crooked grin. “Thanks for the support.”

“No problem.”

They turn back to the TV where a local car dealership decided to make a “personal” commercial by using actual employees, resulting in all the awkwardness of a middle school play.

“You know,” Krissy says after a moment, “I bet there are kids like us who could’ve used a social worker who knows what the hell is actually out there. Kind of a niche market, but...it’d probably help a lot of people.”

“Huh,” Claire says, lost in thought at the possibilities. “Never considered that.”

“What can I say? I’m brilliant.”

Five minutes or so later, Claire’s stomach rumbles and she hauls herself up off the couch, grabbing her empty water glass from the coffee table. “I’m grabbing food. Wanna come?”

“I dunno, Claire, with my stitches and everything…couldn’t you just…?” Krissy mock-whines.

“Shut up, you big baby. You want food, you can drag your ass to the kitchen, too.” Claire offers the other girl a hand, though, and half-pulls her up off the couch.

“It was worth a shot,” Krissy shrugs.

They make their way to the kitchen, but Claire runs into Krissy, who stops suddenly in the door. She peers into the room where Dean and Cas look like guilty teenagers and Cas’ shirt is rucked up a little...and yeah, no, Claire is blocking that image and reaching for the brain bleach. Krissy’s eyes are as wide as dinner plates.

“Um, we’ll come back later. Sorry,” Krissy stammers, grabbing Claire by the arm and dragging her away. Claire makes no effort to stop her. “Yeah, like I said before: definitely not jealous of you living here,” the hunter shakes her head as soon as they’re out of earshot.

“Ugh. I’m reconsidering my stance on hunting. I think there are lots of cases on the other side of the country. Or Europe even. We should check out Europe. Like right now.”

“Psht. Like you could keep up with me.”

“Bite me,” Claire grins, and the other girl laughs as they make their way back to the TV room. Snacks’ll just have to wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Feedback -- comments, constructive criticism, kudos -- always appreciated!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos always appreciated! :)


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